“There, John, I told you so!” cried May, triumphantly.
John made an awry face.
“You see, Miss Webster, to what I have to get accustomed,” he said.
“But John, you know you like me in white best,” continued May; “at least you always said so.”
“So I do, but as we are going on our travels straight from the church, I thought something dark would be more useful. However, of course, have your own way, and to-morrow these ladies perhaps will go out and help us to buy a very smart traveling cloak and whatever else you require. We are going direct to Paris, Miss Webster, as this young lady has never seen that lively city.”
John talked on thus until he rose to take his leave for the night, but even then he said nothing of his proposition to Miss Webster. But the next morning he did.
“Have you thought over what I said last night, Miss Webster?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Temple,” answered Miss Webster, falteringly, “and we think—sister Eliza and I think—that it would be better if—the future Mrs. John Temple did not live in this house—”
“That is settled then,” said John Temple, calmly; “but perhaps you will kindly help May to find a suitable house?”
“Only too delighted to do anything for such a sweet young creature,” replied kind Miss Webster; “I assure you, Mr. Temple; both sister Eliza and myself have the greatest regard for her.”